Don't Stand So Close to Me
by Zeelee
Summary: Another chapter!A new mutant comes to Xavier's school, and immediately falls for one of the teachers. NOT a mary-sue, and very different from any other OC romance.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: if you honestly think that the X-men belong to me, you are a sad, sad little person. Ditto goes for any song that appears in here; Don't stand so close t me is property of Sting and the Police.  
  
A/N: I use several different forms of communication in this fic, so here's something of a guide: equals normal speech, of course, _Italics_ equals mental thoughtspeech, and ...' equals sign language. I'm sorry if it gets kind of confusing sometimes, deciphering whether the characters are speaking out loud or in their heads or through their hands or whatever, but I'm doing the best I can.  
  
As always, reviews are good for the soul, folks! Enjoy and then tell me about it!  
  


Chapter 1_  
_

  
Young teacher, the subject  
Of schoolgirl fantasy  
She wants him so badly  
Knows what she wants to be  
Inside her there's longing  
This girl's an open page  
Book marking - she's so close now  
This girl is half his age  
  
Don't stand, don't stand so  
Don't stand so close to me  
  
Her friends are so jealous  
You know how bad girls get  
Sometimes it's not so easy  
To be the teacher's pet  
Temptation, frustration  
So bad it makes him cry  
Wet bus stop, she's waiting  
His car is warm and dry  
  
Loose talk in the classroom  
To hurt they try and try  
Strong words in the staffroom  
The accusations fly  
It's no use, he sees her  
He starts to shake and cough  
Just like the old man in  
That book by Nabakov  
  
_Don't stand, don't stand so  
Don't stand so close to me.  
  
_  
It was a beautiful day. A perfect New England Autumn day, complete with brisk-but-not-too-cold temperatures, bright orange leaves slowly fluttering to the ground, and a blue sky bright enough to give a dog color vision. The classic, elegant mansion set off the Autumn day perfectly, giving off a warm, friendly, welcoming atmosphere to anyone who was passing by.  
  
A girl was standing on the porch of this mansion, absolutely petrified with fear. She was about 16, with tall, slim legs and a sweet face framed by soft, long brown hair. Large, brown doe eyes peeked out from underneath the strands of hair that blocked her face as she tried to summon the courage to ring the doorbell.  
  
Clara took several deep breaths, telling herself again that this was where she belonged; this was where she could find people to help her with her... problem.  
  
But there was no interpreter here. No mother or father or teacher to explain to strangers what she was saying... hell, as far as she knew there wasn't even anyone here who knew sign language at all.   
  
It was possible that she wouldn't be able to communicate with anybody.  
  
Clara shook her head, attempting to clear the thoughts that smothered it. The professor had promised her and her family that there would be people here who would be able to understand her, able to communicate with her. She should believe him. But still--this was the real world! This wasn't home, this wasn't the special school her parents sent her to. She was so incredibly, unbelievably scared to do this.  
  
But she needed help. Desperately. The voices.... what was happening to her was far more terrifying than the thought of finally facing the real world. Inhaling deeply, Clara raised her small hand to press the doorbell.  
  
She could feel vibrations through the door and floor, several thudding footsteps. She imagined some grumbling and maybe a few swear words were being said behind the door.  
  
A man more than half a foot shorter than her opened the door, a scowl on his face. Clara gulped: despite his height, he was quite intimidating, with a scruffy beard, very impressive muscles, and hair that stuck out from the side of his head like two giant blades.   
  
Logan studied the scared girl in front of him, trying to think.... oh yeah! Charlie _did_ say that a new student was coming today. Breaking into a grin, he said, You must be the new girl. What'cha go by, darlin?  
  
Clara bit her lip. She'd never been able to read lips, unlike most of her friends. Thanks to her newfound abilities, though, she could hopefully tell from this man's mind what he wanted... he realized she was the new girl Charlie' had told him about... was curious....wanted--her name? Yes, her name.  
  
Fishing in her pocket for a scrap of paper and a pen, she scribbled Clara Senecal. Smiling, she handed the paper to the man in front of her, who took it, his brow furrowing with uncertainty.   
  
Uh... okay, Clara. Um, why don't you come in?  
  
Clara hesitated. He was still curious about her, and whatever his question had been didn't translate to what he'd been thinking. She had no idea what he'd just asked. Sighing in frustration, she tapped the side of her head, by her ear.  
  
Oh... there's something wrong with your head.  
  
She could feel his disappointed thoughts, and Clara realized: he thought she was retarded! Shaking her head in dismay, she tapped her ear again.  
  
You--have a headache?  
  
Now he was just confused. Clara stomped her foot in frustration. Those who could hear were so dumb sometimes!   
  
Oh well. Time to really play Charades. She pointed to herself, then shook her head and crossed her arms to signal can't', and then grabbed her ear, shaking it visibly for him.  
  
Oh! You're... deaf.  
  
She didn't need to read his mind to know what he'd said. Deaf' was one of the only words she'd learned to lip read.   
  
And it didn't take a psychic to feel the dismaying waves of pity emanate from him, either.  
  
realizing that talking was pointless, Logan beckoned to her and walked inside, hoping that she would follow. Footsteps padded behind him as Clara shyly entered the mansion.  
  
Clara tasted acid on her tongue as she felt the waves of pity from this stranger wash over her. She wished she could curl up in a ball and hide, away from the strange thoughts, away from everyone feeling so damn _sorry _for her.  
  
She'd always been able to sense the pity from strangers when they learned of her condition, even before her mutant powers had manifested. It was in their eyes, their smiles, the way they constantly patted her shoulder or her head or her back, as if she was a little child in need of comforting.  
  
Then, when she began to hear' the thoughts of others, she realized that it wasn't just strangers. Her parents, her teachers, her friends once they realized she was a mutant... they all felt _sorry_ for her. It was the most degrading, humiliating thing in the world, realizing that even her parents pictured her as this poor creature, estranged from the world, unable to hear music or laughter or birds' calls ever in her life.  
  
She wasn't pitiful. She wasn't weak. She didn't make a habit of feeling sorry for herself, and to her reasoning, therefore other people shouldn't.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted when her guide stopped in front of what looked like the main office of the school. Opening the door, he leaned in and spoke something to the person inside. Stepping out, he smiled at Clara and signaled for her to enter the room.  
  
So this was it--the moment of truth. She was about to meet the head honcho of this place, Charles Savior or something like that. She tried to think happy, reassuring thoughts: _Don't be nervous, Clara... he just wants to help you... don't be nervous..._ yeah, right. Nervous was out of the question: Clara was practically shaking in her boots she was so terrified.   
  
She could feel the muscles in her neck tense involuntarily, and beads of sweat threatened to appear on her forehead. Thoughts raced through her head, and it took her a while to realize that most of them weren't hers: _Where the hell is my book? ...I'm gonna be late! .....Experimenting doesn't mean I'm gay, right? .....My god, that bastard ....You know, blue fur could be quite a turn on.... He can't like me... where's the jello?....  
  
_Uh, miss? Miss? Wolverine snapped his fingers in front of the girl's face--she was in some kinda trance or something--and cursed when he remembered that sounds were useless. He took hold of her shoulders (which were a good five inches above his) and shook her gently.  
  
The girl came to with a strangled noise, and put her head in her hands, panting. Looking up, Clara shook her head, clearing it of the unwanted thoughts she'd overheard. _I have to get a grip on myself-- I can't go crazy now!_ she thought as she entered the room.  
  
A bald, white man sat behind the desk, his hands flitting about with a thousand forms, student papers, books and other unfortunate items. His gaze lifted when Clara walked in, and his austere face dissolved into a welcoming smile. His hands came to life, and Clara's heart leapt at the sight of the first sign language she'd seen since leaving home: Welcome,' his hands said. You must be Clara--my name is Professor Charles Xavier.'  
  
The professor laughed at the joyous expression that suddenly appeared on her face as she signed back so fast even he could barely understand what she was saying. Calm down, child!' he said. Please have a seat and we'll discuss your schooling.' Clara's relief was almost tangible. Finally, someone who could sign! She wouldn't be so alone here! I'm so glad you know sign language, professor! I was so scared that I'd get here and not be able to talk to anyone!'  
  
Xavier smiled at her. Unfortunately, I believe I am the only one at the mansion who is familiar with American Sign Language; you will have to communicate with the others in different ways.' He hesitated. I hope you don't think I'm being rude, but with both of us being telepaths, it might be easier to talk like...'  
  
_This._ Clara gasped and pushed away from the desk as she heard' the voice in her head. _Ohmygodohymygodohmygod... okay, calm down, you didn't _hear'_ him, you just... okay, okay, I can handle this, he says I'm a telepath, I can handle it, that's why I'm here..._  
  
The professor could sense the paranoia and panic he'd put her through when he reached out with his mind. Frowning, he reached out, gently taking her hand in his. She blinked, snapping out of her train of terrified thoughts.  
  
Charles switched back to sign language. I am sorry that I frightened you. I did not think of the consequences; however, you _are_ a telepath, and you need to learn how to communicate mind to mind.' He hesitated, biting his lip. However, if you have objections to starting now, I will understand.'  
  
Clara took a deep, shuddering breath. It had been three months since she'd first started hearing voices' in her head, and it still scared her shitless. No,' she signed, you're right. I need to learn this.'  
  
He nodded. _All right, then._ Clara forced herself not to scream bloody murder at his voice in her head. _It might be hard for you, at first, to project your thoughts in verbal sentences--in other words, to initiate mind-to-mind contact--but, seeing as I am a fellow telepath, I will see your thoughts if you direct them at' me. Does that make sense?  
  
_Clara blinked. That didn't sound so hard. _Okay._ She hesitated. _Did you hear that?_  
  
The professor smiled. _Yes. You did that perfectly. Now, I want to talk about your schooling here..._  
  
Some time later, Clara stood, stretching and yawning. They'd been talking' for over an hour, and her brain felt like it had just been forced to take an A.P. Calculus test. This psychic shit took some getting used to.   
  
Professor Xavier switched back to sign language. Well, that's enough talk for now, Clara. I've called someone to take you to your room now. and show you around tomorrow morning.' He wheeled out from behind the desk. I hope you'll be at home here.'  
  
Clara gasped as the wheelchair came into view. She hadn't realized... she met his eyes, and blushed as she realized he could tell what she was thinking. He didn't seem angry, though--he smiled, and lifted his shoulder a little, as if to say, I get that all the time.  
  
Clara felt another person's presence in the room, and turned around to see a redheaded woman standing in the doorway. This must be her guide.  
  
Professor X smiled. Well, I'll let you get to your bed. It was a pleasure meeting you, Clara.'  
  
You as well, Professor.' She turned to go, but then stopped, turning back towards him. Professor?'  
  
_Please call me Charles, Clara._  
  
She gulped. Charles.' Her hands wavered for a second, as if unsure what she was going to say next. I... thank you.'  
  
Charles smiled. Any time, Clara.'  
  
***  
  
Clara Senecal through herself down onto the bed, sighing blissfully. Finally, there was hope! The professor had already taught her new ways to communicate, at least with him. He'd told her that he could also teach her how to talk that way with other people, how to form mental blocks so she didn't have to deal with the constant barrage of thoughts from others, and even how to control others' minds, eventually. That last option made her shiver, though with fear or anticipation, she didn't know.  
  
She rolled over onto her stomach, contemplating her pillow. The professor--Charles--seemed like a very nice man. He'd been able to answer almost every question she'd had, and never seemed mad or even embarrassed if she said something rude or less than tactful. And something else...  
  
He didn't pity her. Oh, maybe he'd just been able to hide it, being a telepath and all... but no. In his words, in his expressions, in his thoughts--there wasn't a trace of pity. He regarded her like he would any other person, even maybe respected her more than other people because of her lack of hearing. She'd never encountered that before, not even in the prestigious teachers at the expensive School for the Deaf her parents sent her to.  
  
Maybe this school wouldn't be so bad after all.  



	2. chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I owned the X-men, I would be writing actual _comics_ instead of plunking away at my computer for absolutely no profit. Duh.  
  
A/N: I use several different forms of communication in this fic, so here's something of a guide: equals normal speech, of course, _Italics_ equals mental thoughtspeech, and ...' equals sign language. I'm sorry if it gets kind of confusing sometimes, deciphering whether the characters are speaking out loud or in their heads or through their hands or whatever, but I'm doing the best I can.  
  
I'm so sorry for the delay, guys! I didn't abandon this story, it's NOT dead, my life just intervened in a very rude way. I'm really busy, folks, and also I've been concentrating on my other X-men fic, Fur, Fangs, And Mutant Freaks. I'm sorry if this was a long time coming and is still really short, but I can't make any promises. I just hope the updates will come faster after this.  
  
P.S. Reviewers, the amount of love I have for you all cannot be contained on this page. Feed the starving writer's ego!  
  
  


Chapter 2  
  


_Young teacher, the subject  
Of schoolgirl fantasy  
She wants him so badly  
Knows what she wants to be  
Inside her there's longing  
This girl's an open page  
Book marking - she's so close now  
This girl is half his age  
  
Don't stand, don't stand so  
Don't stand so close to me  
  
Her friends are so jealous  
You know how bad girls get  
Sometimes it's not so easy  
To be the teacher's pet  
Temptation, frustration  
So bad it makes him cry  
Wet bus stop, she's waiting  
His car is warm and dry  
  
Loose talk in the classroom  
To hurt they try and try  
Strong words in the staffroom  
The accusations fly  
It's no use, he sees her  
He starts to shake and cough  
Just like the old man in  
That book by Nabakov  
_  
_Don't stand, don't stand so  
Don't stand so close to me.  
  
_  
Professor Charles Xavier stared out the window at his students playing outside, his mind a whirl with a zillion thoughts. His fingers drummed on the sill as he watched the teenagers frolicking, the pencil in his left hand tapped in time to the soft folk music playing on the radio and his mind was miles away.   
  
Professor? Professor! Jean Grey's sharp voice pulled him out of his thoughts abruptly, and she could feel his disorientation and embarrassment at having drifted off. Your opinion on the matter?   
  
Excuse me Jean, I am afraid I was... not paying attention. What were you saying?  
  
Jean sighed. She was exhausted: she'd been working all day on figuring out classes and other things for the new girl, just trying to get to know her, and it was hell. The girl couldn't really communicate with anyone, she was stubborn and sullen, and freaked out if Jean tried to telepathically communicate. Whenever they would write to each other, all Clara would do was ask to see the professor, who was busy all day. Apparently she didn't feel comfortable talking to anyone else. I just told you the price to hire an interpreter for all of Clara's classes, she said. The cheapest ones charge around ten dollars an hour, plus room and board.  
  
Xavier gave a low whistle. That would be quite the cost to the school. Still, it's something we must do--go ahead and contact whomever you think is best for the job.  
  
Jean spluttered, not believing her ears. But, sir! The cost to the school! We're already tight on budget as it is, and you want to hire an entire teacher just for this _one girl?_ Professor, we can easily interpret for her telepathically!  
  
But she is not comfortable speaking telepathically just yet, Jean. We cannot rush her. She did not grow up in a mutant-friendly environment, and she is unable to separate sounds from thoughts in her head quite yet--I think it's best that we communicate through sign language for now. I know it's a cost, but we must do whatever we can to make her feel at home. He turned to leave. Also, we need to hire a sign-language teacher for the school--I think it's important that at the least all we staff learn the skill, if not the students as well, don't you think?  
  
But sir- He was already gone. Jean scowled. Why the sudden interest in accommodating for this girl? Okay, granted sign language was a useful skill if you were a teacher--surely this wouldn't be the first deaf student they would have at the institute--but still. They were short on funds as it was.  
  
She sighed. There wasn't really any use grouching (A/N: yes, I make up words) about it--the professor clearly had his mind made up. Grumbling to herself, she wandered off to see about the interpreter.  
  
***  
  
Any hopeful, calming thoughts about this place that she'd thought the day before were completely, totally gone. Clara was the most terrified she'd ever been in her life. The voices in her head... she wasn't used to hearing' things, anything at all. And now...  
  
_I can't believe he wants us to... I'm going to get you for that one, Bobby... what's the square root of.. ice cream! It's cold in here... that's my favorite movie... I can'tbarethisistoomuchtoomuchtoomuch...  
  
_Clara gasped and clapped her hands over her ears, even though she knew, logically, that those particular flaps of skin weren't responsible for the noise' in her head. _Oh god, make it stop... please, I don't _want_ this!_   
  
Feeling the vibrations of footsteps through the floor, Clara looked up. It was that lady--Ms. Jean Grey. The last person Clara wanted to see. The woman had been harassing her all day, trying to barge into her mind, bugging her about what classes she wanted to take, refusing to let her see Xavier... it never seemed to end.  
  
But the worst part, by _far_, was the pity. Jean wasn't even making any attempts to hide it. Clara could feel it emanating off the teacher in nauseating tidal waves--this woman was so soundly convinced that she had things so much _better_ than Clara, that Clara was just a poor, dumb, deaf girl who desperately needed the help of the Xavier Institute.  
  
She wouldn't feel so annoyed towards this Jean woman if everything else was going fine. But she was having such a horrible morning: the barrage of thoughts had gotten worse since last night, almost as if spending those sessions with Charles had made her defenses weaker. There were so many more people here than at her old school! And they were _scary_, too--Clara knew that she was now a mutant, that she had no reason to be afraid of these children, but _geez._ She couldn't help but be a little frightened when _children_ had an extra set of arms, or perhaps a set of wings. She never saw that kind of stuff where she was from, not to mention that all the telepaths in the house... dear god, it was so annoying! One would think that a telepath would naturally have quiet thoughts, or better yet, hide them altogether, but no. Not in _this_ house: here, they all seemed to be _shouting_ their thoughts at full volume. Something about being able to read other's thoughts made your own thoughts louder, perhaps--or maybe they just didn't care if someone overheard their deepest desires.  
  
Jean watched the young girl scowl down at the floor, and felt annoyance surge within her. Why was Clara being so damned difficult? Jean was just trying to help her, that was all. She _ought_ to be grateful she was getting help from her--she was a _deaf mutant_, for chrissake, she ought to be happy and grateful that Jean and the professor were willing to help her out. No other school would have the patience or the pity to take care of her.  
  
Clara's head jerked up, narrowing her eyes at Jean.  
  
_Oh boy,_ Jean thought. _She heard that last thought! Man, if looks could kill..._ Clara was still glaring furiously at her teacher. Jean started to say, I'm sorry, but then she remembered--poor Clara wouldn't be able to hear her. Jean felt a wave of pity go through her, and immediately felt sorry for being so hard on the girl. _Poor thing, she probably can't _help_ acting so ornery all the time...  
  
_A sound that was almost like a strangled snarl escaped from Clara's throat, and she got up abruptly, walking across the room to the window, as far away from this horrible woman as possible. _Oops._ Jean grimaced._ I guess she heard that, too..._  
  
Jean, thank you for your services. I would like to spend some time with Clara now, if you please. Jean turned around to meet Xavier's kind, stern eyes, and she could tell immediately that he knew what had made Clara cross the room so abruptly. Guiltily, the redheaded telepath left Clara to the professor.  
  
It had started drizzling a few minutes ago, and it was now near to pouring. Clara thought it reflected her mood perfectly as she gazed out the window. She missed everyone around her being able to Sign. She missed not having a constant headache. Most of all, she missed just being _left alone,_ not having to put up constant barriers against others, not having to struggle to communicate with her teachers, not having to deal with all this freaking _pity_ everywhere she turned.  
  
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and jumped, turning to face Charles. She could see in his eyes that he understood, understood her frustration, her moodiness, her anger. Almost immediately Clara felt ashamed of herself: she had acted so childishly this morning. No doubt the professor was well aware of her prejudices against mutants.  
  
She hung her head. I am sorry,' she signed. My behavior has been extremely immature this morning. It's just--everything's so hard, and happening so fast, and I just can't-'  
  
He silenced her by putting his hands over hers. _It's all right, Clara_, he said.' _I'm not judging you for your behavior--I am certain that were I in your place, I would have acted the same. You are understandably frightened, you have been thrust into a strange environment with people you cannot communicate with and on top of that you are being forced to make decisions concerning your future, take in too much information, _and_ keep up with the constant barrage of strangers' thoughts you are experiencing._ He paused, and she saw a flash of guilt in his eyes._ I am partly to blame, I confess--I am pushing you too hard, forcing you to deal with things you aren't accustomed too-_  
  
Clara shook her head vehemently. _No sir, it's not your fault at all! I just--I'm stubborn, and I don't like being told what to do. I probably shouldn't have been so rude to Jean.  
  
_Charles chuckled, surprising Clara. _I don't blame you for that at all, Clara. Jean can be... aggravating, at times. She is very self-righteous, and sometimes--well, sometimes she says and thinks things that are very insulting._ Clara felt a glimpse of his memories, and looked down at his wheelchair. What was he saying? Had he experienced the same pity from Jean--from everyone-as she because he didn't have the use of his legs?  
  
She met his eyes, and he gave her a tiny smile, nodding his head. _But-that's ridiculous!_ Clara thought to herself. _He's one of--if not _the--_most powerful mind on the planet! He doesn't _need_ his legs with power like that. How can people possibly think him helpless?_  
  
She felt him lightly touch her hand, bringing her back to the moment. _Do not blame them for things they don't understand,_ she heard him say in her mind._ Most people will never know what it's like for people--people like us._ Clara knew that he did not mean mutants._ So how could they know that we don't need their pity? How could they know that having certain skills taken away makes the remaining ones that more powerful? How could they know how beautiful the world is when you can comprehend and appreciate the skills and elements that give you your humanity?_  
  
Clara's throat felt dry. There was such... intensity, in his eyes, such truth in his words. She had never met anyone, not even her fellow deaf friends, that... understood on such a profound level. Was it his telepathy that gave him that understanding? Suddenly she wanted to learn more about her powers, she wanted to see the world like he did, she wanted him to teach her _everything._  
  
Charles blinked and shook his head, bringing both of them out of their reverie. He smiled at her, and signed, You can do what you wish for the rest of the day--learning about your new home can wait until you have at least somewhat acclimated yourself to it. I wish I could stay and talk with you, but I'm a busy person--the rest of the school calls. I hope your day improves, Clara.'  
  
She nodded, and signed back. Thank you, Charles. I'm sorry I took you away from the rest of your duties.'  
  
He smiled at her, and she felt her heart stop for a moment. It was my pleasure, Clara. Take care!'  
  
With that he was gone, leaving his newest charge with more new thoughts, ideas and feelings than she could possibly know how to deal with.  
  
***  
  
Charles sighed as he wheeled away. She was certainly a most... interesting student. It would certainly be a challenge to accommodate a deaf student to the school, and her telepathic abilities were more unique than she knew, but there was more to it than that. Her mind was so complex, so fiery and angry, but gentle at the same time. She seemed years older than sixteen, and yet had had almost no experience with the real world. She was terrified of her powers, more scared than he had seen any student be for a long time. And no wonder: from what he had seen of her memories, she'd had some _very_ rough experiences when her powers first manifested.  
  
Still, he rarely spent this much time on one student. Usually in these circumstances he would have just let Jean handle it, assured that she would find a way to calm the girl. So why had he come to visit her? Why was he so intrigued with her?  
  
She had known immediately, without having to read his mind, about the pity he felt from others concerning his injured legs. She had known he had dealt with the same thoughts from Jean Grey concerning her idea that he was somehow crippled.' She knew what it was like to be so set apart, to be considered unhealthy,' handicapped' by society even when you proved them a thousand times over that you were far from crippled. Those with disabilities among society always seemed to be more wise than a regular human or mutant--they knew how lucky they were, how _grateful_ they should be just to be alive. That wisdom showed in Clara's eyes, in the way she glared at Jean Grey, in the way she unconsciously considered herself to be equal to everyone here from the moment she walked through the door. She didn't really know it, but Clara wasn't insecure among those who could hear. She didn't give a damn, and that fascinated Charles to no end.  
  
He shook his head. He really did have work to do, and he couldn't do that if he was constantly thinking about Clara. Reluctantly, he shoved his newest student to the back of his mind and returned to his office.


End file.
